


Wily Snake

by OntheMeander



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale centric, Based on a Tumblr Post, Biblical References, British Comedy, Confused Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dark Comedy, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Extended Scene, Gardener Aziraphale (Good Omens), Gay Crowley (Supernatural), Hurt Crowley, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Kid Fic, M/M, Nanny Crowley (Good Omens), Pseudo-History, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 22:40:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19733116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OntheMeander/pseuds/OntheMeander
Summary: Crowley is never what Aziraphale expected. The jury is still out on if that is a blessing or a curse.





	Wily Snake

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING this fic contains many feelings and exactly one joke. Read at your own risk.
> 
> Also, every major event in history happens on a Tuesday, do what you will with that information.

It was only the second Tuesday since the beginning of everything, and it was already significantly less enjoyable than that last one. That first glorious Tuesday was the creation of the stars and the sun and the moon, in that order. Now, many will falsely believe that this occurred on a Wednesday. That would be Holy incorrect.

Those that say this, assume that the second day was Tuesday. This is in fact wrong. As Archbishop James Ussher claimed that the heavens and earth were created on Sunday the 21st of October, 4004 BC at 9 am (though that is needing the small correction of a quarter of an hour miscalculation. Overall this should be forgiving, as 1650s clocks were notoriously difficult to keep properly tuned and the Irish as a people always saw the need to considered tea time as ‘off the clock’.)

So, in this fact, Tuesday is the third day, where Wednesday would soon popularly be, while Monday claims the role of first and Sunday becomes a haven of hazy forgetfulness to the point where humans are convinced there are only six days. None the less, being younger than a week, the stars were already being covered from view by God’s latest favorite creation, the rain.

The pearlescent feathers of Aziraphale's glossy wings rustled and shook with the splashing of the raindrops. Fortunately, the first rains were balmy like the garden’s waterfall. Though the low grumbling coming from Crawley made it seem like it could do with being about twenty degrees warmer. Even with the forked tongue spite, he did nothing to move out from under Aziraphale’s wing. Just kept standing there, hunched up, staring out at the shrinking pair of humans walking into the distance.

Even with the darkening skies, they were an easy pair to make out, flaming sword aloft. What if he had done the wrong thing. Without his sword, he had no weapon for which to defend the tree of knowledge. It was now disappeared into the sandy wastes of the desert. Aziraphale just hoped they were going to keep it away from the babe once he was born.

What a mess this all was, he was not looking forward to the strongly worded reprimand he would get from Gabriel or God herself. Not something to be looking forward too again after that Lilith debacle as well. His heart was still aching from those cutting words Michael had hand delivered.

“Why did you do it?” Aziraphale asked watching as the beacon of light finally disappeared over the horizon. His unlikely companion perked up, the tops of his rust red curls brushing against his secondary coverts.

“Hmmm…?” Came the questioning near hiss of that sneaky serpent that started this mess. Slitted yellow eyes tried to look as innocent and confused as the first breaths of man himself.

“The Apple.” He clarified for the demon.

“They told me to come up here and make trouble that’s all.” The haphazard shrug rustled the black feathers on the Fallen’s wings, stroking along the back of Aziraphale’s calves.

“Yes, I know that obviously you demon.” He turned his back on the empty sandy landscape. Instead, staring into the flourishing land of the garden. Confused animals snuffled around in the wet grass, exploring for the first-time moisture from the sky. Many leaped and frolicked in the new discovery while many reptiles and other creatures of delicate dispositions hid under the large canopy of the fruit trees. “Just…. Why the tree? Why not just worry sheep or some such?”

Aziraphale could see the tree of knowledge from their perch. Each red fruit glistening with water looking even more tempting than before. No animals dared go near it though, they never did except for one small creature. That snake in question was worrying his human lips.

“I… I…” he groaned out as he searched for words. Instead, he just let out a deep sigh. “Blissful ignorance isn’t all it chalked up to be.” Aziraphale had nothing to say for that. He just was left in silent discomfort. “It wares with time and when it does, the fall can be… Better they had a choice in the matter.”

__________________________________

“Crawley what are you doing!?”

“Hello, Aziraphale.”

“What are you doing”

“Oh, just testing out some new paint colors for the houses. I do love a vibrant blood red.”

“You can’t do that!”

“Why not?”

“Because it is to protect the believers' firstborns.”

“Is that part of the ineffable plan?”

“of course.”

“Great then I am doing my job, evil and mischief and wicked whatever it is you all preoccupy yourselves with.”

“I believe it is you who is preoccupied with the wicked.”

“Only in the job description. Look, if you don’t like it then you can remove it.”

“…Foul fiend.”

__________________________________

Unknown to most laymen and even a few clergies is that angels do in fact have the ability to vomit. To be clear it is not so much the celestial energy that is an angel, that is mostly comprised of bright white holy light and magnitude of blazing all-seeing eyes, leaving very little room for a stomach or esophagus. However, their corporeal casing very much had the needed equipment to forcefully expel contents. This could produce various effects, mostly dependent on each individual angel’s consumption habits. Right around this moment, somewhere in the 14:45 range on a soggy Tuesday, was when Aziraphale distinctly wished he hadn’t such an interest in food.

His curls were plastered to his face, an annoying limp strand of white hair being insistent on getting into his eyes. The endless rain had long soaked through his wool garments weighing dozens of pounds upon his shoulders, forcing them to collapse. The wind was loud from his perch atop the aft of the ark’s roof. The low creaking of the wooden beams just barely being heard under the gusting breeze,

Just on the edges of the horizon, he could see the last peaks of the tallest mount dip below the raging waves. Nothing was left, the world was awash in inky black water and nothing but a single wooden arc was able to breach the waves. The screams had died out hours ago but watching the last bit of rock slip under the waves felt like the official end of it all. Only rock left in the water world was the one lodge beep in his stomach, threating to be upchucked.

Turning away, whipping the water from his face, Aziraphale climbed down from the roof. Inside the air was moldy with wet hay yet stifling warm and loud with all the rustlings of every animal on the planet. As evening settled in, the animals were beginning to lay down for the night. They were probably all exhausted from the chaos of growing ocean waves bashing against the ark. Watch those innocent animal pairs snuggle into one another almost made the ache of loss soften in his heart.

Angels were not in the business of questioning what God’s plans for them were. By definition those that made it their business were cast out and no longer allowed to be called angels.

He slowly made his way down into the deepest set of the Ark’s bowels, settling fussy animals to bed as he went. It was the first night upon their new home and Noah’s family was already exhausted, tending to the animals and just trying to wash out the desperate shouts of the drowned. Aziraphale helped where he could, detouring the water buffalos from stampeding into the penguin pin. He even triple checked that none of the snakes every that nefarious golden-eyed demon Crawley.

All the heavenly grace that usually saturates the essence of angelhood suddenly evaporated as Aziraphale tripped over himself.

There were children. About a dozen of them, all dirty and scared looking, huddled tightly into the corner. They were whispering amongst themselves, the oldest children, no more than fifteen were doing their best to keep the young one’s calm, all were circled around the only adult in the group.

“C…Crawley?” The man in question looked up with a start. His slit yellow eyes were wide with surprise. His hands were wrapped around a wicker basket filled with freshly baked bread, still steaming from a non-existent oven, which he was passing around to everyone.

“Aziraphale, what a surprise to see you here.” He stood up in a flurry of dark dyed robes, the fabric spreading to be a curtain between the angel and eating children. Just over his right should Aziraphale could make out a tuft of downy soft dark baby hair. Peeking around Aziraphale made out the shape of an infant strapped securely to Crawley’s back.

“How did you…” The angel couldn’t finish his thought so instead opted to vaguely wave in the direction of the kids.

“Big ark.” Was Crawley’s flippant response “Easy to sneak onto when there are eight people aboard.” His eyes were piercing, a challenge or inspection of Aziraphale, it was hard to tell in the low lighting. It was such a powerful look it made goose-pimples rise Aziraphale neck. Unable to keep eye contact he opted instead to shift his eyes around all the faces, unable to look at one longer than a handful of seconds. A few peaked around the folds of Crawley’s clothing, many with confused eyes but some of the older ones with angry suspicion. They might not know who he is but he had a feeling that they knew he was involved in the destruction of their world.

A few of the younger children, some as young as two and three, began to fuss. A particularly muddy looking five-year-old even began tugging at the edges of Crawley’s clothing with a plaintive whine.

“Go to bed.” Crawley nearly hissed in a tone guaranteed to make any child cry. Instead, though, the children all began to fall asleep one by one. Each miracled to drifting off into what looked to be a peaceful slumber huddled amongst one another. The sound of the rocking boat and snuffling animals aiding the scared little ones down for the night.

All of them were snoring in sleep except for one very small stowaway.

The babe in arms began to fuss. A wet gurgled grumbled that guaranteed to evolve into soul aching cries came from the infant. Aziraphale began to reach for the little one, only to freeze as Crawley snapped his fingers. Crawley’s physical form started to change, jawline rounding out, hips beginning to flair, bosom swelling, and height shortening. Even so, all things that made Crawley who she was is still there with her curled apple red hair and snake-like eyes.

Black wool fabric rustled as she transferred the babe from her back to her chest. Aziraphale just watched silently as Crawley helped the hungry infant find a nipple to start feeding on. The soft sound of suckling was almost comforting to listen to. To hear life still thriving amongst the relentless rattling of the rain against the hull. Crawley, however, wasn’t one for silence for so long, “I won’t let you throw them overboard. You’ll have to discorporate me to even get near them.”

Instead, Aziraphale gentle brushed passed the demon, miracleing a series of blankets to drape over shoulders. He could feel the weight of Crawley’s eyes on him as went about comforting the children in his own way. The Ark may float but it was horrible at preventing water from getting in. Crawley stood intense action, ready to jump in even with suckling babe attached to her chest. Aziraphale covered the last child before settling in amongst the periphery of the group.

“Oh no. You have clearly outwitted me.” Aziraphale barely whispered, not wanting to disturb the kids. “Your sly cunning and devilish nature have gotten the better of me this time. Besides, Noah and his family have enough to worry about with all the animals. I wouldn’t want to burden them even more.” With a shifting of his back, his wings expanded to wrap the warm feather appendages around the lot. A half circle of protection.

“I mean, _clearly_ the Almighty wants these children dead, what with their capacity for evil and stuff; so, by _saving_ them all, I’m actually going against the Ineffable Plan.” Crawley settled opposite of Aziraphale, re-swaddling the now fed baby. A puffy cherub-faced child that made nary a peep as it went back to bed in the crook of Crawley’s arms. Mimicking Aziraphale, she released her dark perfectly groomed wings, completing the ring set out by the angel.

“You’ve won this round willy serpent.” He said with a contented sigh, feeling the comforting weight of the children gravitate towards him. Seeking out his divine holy warmth. The circle became tighter as white and black feathers splayed together, cocooning the sleeping refugees from the world.

“That’s right, I am evil and willy.” His forked tongue poking out around his words. “Don’t forget it.”

__________________________________

“Crawley, why am I not surprised you are here.”

“Well hello Aziraphale, how are you on this fine Tuesday?”

“Why are you dressed like a stone mason?”

“Just got off work and what not.”

“Work?”

“Of course, I am working on the tower… well was. Its all gone now ain’t it. God saw to that.”

“You are not a bricklayer. You are a tempter.”

“Eh, its good to expands one’s skill sets in this day and age.”

“You are a demon; you only have one purpose.”

“Now that just cruel. Just because you’re an angel doesn’t mean I expect you to be only in the celestial harmonies.”

“No, I should probably be slaying devilish snakes.”

“Oh, now that one does really hurt. Wish you had your sword, eh?”

“Was this all your doing, Crawley?”

“So, I might have suggested the build a tower. I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“Crawley, they were trying to go to Heaven.”

“Hardly a terrible thing to do. Boring here anyways.”

“Hm… I’d have to agree with you on that I guess.”

“Frankly the big man up there just made my job easier.”

“Excuse me?”

“Different languages are right helpful when you want to scrap a fight. Before they could just talk out their problems. Now though…”

“That would require you to know the languages as well.”

“… Minor inconvenience.”

__________________________________

Stars, were not heavenly bodies of white light or angels peering down upon man as many quaint minded folks like to believe. No, they were massive balls of hellfire suspended high above between heaven and earth. They tended to stink of brimstone and sulfur. The horrible sulfuric stench not unlike that which permeated out of fridges when you leave eggs in them long enough for particularly malicious demon finds access to them. They were perfectly pleasant places to visit, granted you could turn off all olfactory senses and could withstand the 6000 °C. Leaving possible renters’ options to a limited sort. Mostly hermit like angles and particularly introverted demons.

Aziraphale was always partial of stars, though he had no hand in making them. Not that sort of work was more allotted to a creature like Crawley. That probably was the first cannery in the coal mine, all six hundred and sixty-six fallen being the molders of the stars, led by the Morningstar angel himself.

Six hundred and Sixty-six, Aziraphale wondered if that was how many of the stars that were currently crashing into the city of Sodom.

From his perch on the rocky mountain, he could make out the wings of Sandalphon as he directed the falling stars were to crash down on the wicked city. Whether it was the view, but probably more the pointed rock at his backside, made Aziraphale uncomfortable. God’s will was being brought down in spectacular fashion. Suddenly the crunching of dirt and gravel started to shift from the path below him.

“Joshua so help me God… Satan… whatever. You will have hell to pay if you let any of those little ones look back!” That voice, Aziraphale knew that voice better than he was honestly comfortable with at this point.

Rounding the bend was the long haired red headed serpent of the garden, weighted down in two blindfolded toddlers. Behind him was a chain of adolescents, keeping their gazes pinned to the ground as they trudged up the hill. The biggest children were carrying the littlest ones, all of which were whimpering and tugging at their blindfolds.

“Crawley…good lord.” He gasped out feeling thrown. A typical feeling that the serpent seemed to elicit.

“Yes, yes hello Aziraphale. Would love to chat, but busy.” He brushed past the angel. He had rather disturbing cold skin, much akin to his first form. Though it must feel like a cooling balm for the soot-stained kids in his arms. A few of them seemed to have minor burns, nothing dangerously severe, but surely uncomfortable.

“Are you coming from Sodom?” He looked over the group’s shoulders just as a particularly large star smashed down on the city’s central temple, crumpling it like wet paper. “Oh, heavens. Crawley!”

“Fine, yes we are coming from Sodom. Now if you don’t min-“

“Are you serious? What could you possibly have against the Almighty now?” He was flabbergasted, that Crawley could be there in a pantomime of almost a century ago, children flocking around him in some bastardized savior scenario.

“Besides the sky falling?” Crawley snarked.

“If God is doing it then it must be good.” Aziraphale repeats for about the thousandth time both vocally and mentally. The loud booming noise, from the tumbling temple, finally reached their ears from the valley below.

“Oh yes, like those horrible vial children that deserved to drown.” It was a disgusting trick. A full-fledged devil’s advocate to his very core, Crawley always seemed to know how to stick him where it hurt. He made Aziraphale angry as no other creature could even possibly try to do.

“Why do you insist on doing this!?” Why did he insist on being a relentless thorn in his side and digging up ridiculously painful memories? Why did he insist on not only questioning God but make it so everyone around him had to do it as well?

“Thwarting God’s ‘great ineffable plan’. Remember, job description.” Job description, leave it to Crawley to make the ethereal world sound like nothing better than a corporate job.

“No, you absolute beast, why do you insist on questioning this at all.” Wasn’t it enough for him to be punished by falling why did he have to make sure those around him did so as well?

“How many times do I have to tell you? it’s my job.”

“Your job is to be a tempter. A snake to whisper ill intentions into the ears of man… Wait, were you the cause of this.” He pointed down to that city of miscreants. That level of violation and violence could only be the work of the demons themselves. Right? Humans were not capable of such cruelty alone. Right?

“No, of course not. What those people were doing was vile.” For a second Aziraphale was all most fooled into believing such hellish things were distasteful to this demon. “Probably Hastur’s dealings… if anyone.” He had never met this Hastur, Duke of hell, but if this was his handy work than he was content to never meet him ever. “I will say this does have quite the flair to it,” Crawley said, turning his eyes to the sky, watching almost sadly as another set of stars wobbled and fell from the heavens. “Though I don’t appreciate my work being used to make a point.”

“This is not the Ark Crawley, you can’t play this to seem like the Almighty is overreacting. Those people were violating foreigners and Angels. They were doing the Devil’s work.”

“And what did those kids do!?” His voice was loud enough to bounce off the rocks lining the hillside. He seemed barely cognoscente of this fact or the fact that all the children behind him flinched violently. “They weren’t the ones raping Angels. Why should they burn with the rest of that town?”

“Why do you care?” It was beyond him why a demon would care. They should be relishing this. He would bet money on them dancing in hell at all the new arrivals if it wasn’t a sin to bet.

“I am making sure evil lives on.” Crawley shrugged, continuing to trek up the mountain, Aziraphale had to pick up a brisk pace to keep up with the long-limbed man. The poor adolescents following had to almost run just to not get left behind. A task created infinitely harder when they were weighted down with blindfolded toddlers and the ground relentlessly shook under the impacting destruction of the city below.

“Didn’t you just say they weren’t the evil in that city.” To almost prove his point, a girl carrying her sister nearly tripped and collapsed atop a slippery rock.

“I didn’t know Angels could be such bastards,” Crawley yelled over his shoulder. Ignoring the fact Aziraphale was currently helping said girls back to their feet.

“Well, I didn’t know demons could be so nice.”

“I am not nice!” Crawley thrashed around so fast, Aziraphale worried he gave the children in his arms whiplash. His eyes were blazing brighter than the fires of Sodom and filled with just as much righteous rage. “I am evil and conniving and a ssssnake in the grasssssss. A demon, do you hear me. I’m not nicccce.” A rattling hiss curled across his forked tongue as he crowded into Aziraphale’s bubble.

“No,” He frowned at the Crawley, unimpressed with the demon’s aggression, “but you are scaring the kids.” He gestured to the small bodies, curled up in Crawley’s arms. They were clearly confused, unsure if they wanted to push themselves out of his arms or press in closer for comfort

“Oh… damn.” He groaned out “Sssssshh… Ssssshh, it’sss alright, you are sssafe.” Surprisingly that seemed to help even with the snake hissing perforating his pattern of speech. Aziraphale just glared at the man, a bitter part of him was rather charmed by it all. Which was complicated, no parent would feel light heartened by the sight of snake snuggled up in a cradle. He was deeply frustrated with all things Crawly, but it was distracting to see all these kids with the backdrop of burning buildings behind their heads.

“Follow me,” He chose to say instead of focus on the unease deep in his ethereal being. Tucked somewhere deep between his 395th, 396th eye and the particles of holy light bridging them. “There is a ridge over here. It will keep the kids safe and shield them from turning into salt.” He picked up one of the fussier of children from the arms of a boy who he assumed was Joshua and headed towards the ridge.

Settling in their new night spot and building a fire for the humans was done in bitter silence. Aziraphale mostly supervising so he could keep up the façade of not actively going against God’s plan if pressed. Lord knows that Gabriel was almost impossible to lie too, even for a demon, let alone a lower ranked angel like Aziraphale. The children removed their blindfold to settle into the warm fire. Crawley kept a distance, standing in the shadows, though the yellow snake eyes blazed in the fire.

It took time but sooner than later all the kids fell asleep. A hectic day taking its toll so that each one was actually able to sleep against the rocky cliff side. Ultimately it left the duo all alone to fester in their silence. Peaking just over the edge, Aziraphale could make out the last stars crashing into Sodom, before scaling back down to join the group.

“You know… I don’t… not agree with the Almighty on this one.” Crawley settled on saying. “The adults down there… they deserve it. What they did was disgusting. It’s just not that black and white.”

“It rarely ever seems to be anymore, does it.” Aziraphale lamented. He was wading in that irritable feeling of repetition, déjà vu as it would later be coined a bunch of 20th-century French fops. “Why are you so insistent on thinking I would kill a child of God?” it had been bothering him since the Ark. He did not see himself as particularly strict, especially compared to other angels, yet people seemed to fear him when they find out who he was.

“The angel of the Eastern Gate, bearer of the flame sword, only angel, fallen or otherwise, who has the permission to end the life of the Almighty's favorite toys.” Crawly casually expressed, more interested in inspecting what was under his disturbingly sharp nails.

“I could never.” His aghast voice raised a snort from the serpent of Eden.

“I think your job description alone means you could, eastern angel.” Again, with that maddening slick drawl. Like everything he said meant the world and absolutely nothing all at once. It boiled Aziraphale’s blood.

“I would never!” He stood, ready to storm off in his righteous indignation.

“Not so black and white is it.” Crawley barked at his back as Aziraphale stomped off.

“So. You’ve. Said.” He bit out as the last lights of Sodom were finally snuffed out. Good Riddance.

__________________________________

“Crawley, I should have known this was you’re doing.”

“Aziraphale, I was wondering when I would bump into you again. We have been overdue for a Tuesday rendezvous.”

“These are not rendezvous.”

“You sound flustered.”

“Hang on, what is that around your neck?”

“Hmm?”

“That. Wait, is that… human hair?”

“Oh, this yes, just a little of the great Samson’s hair. Hoped it would give me some of that strength. The jury is still out on that but at least it looks fashionable, hair trinkets are all the rage this century.”

“That is disgusting Crawly… That’s quite the chaos you have created.”

“I would hate to disappoint, Angel.”

“Do you not think for once that this might all be a bit too much.”

“What? The necklace, I thought it looked rather lovel-“

“Not the hair! Crawly, your actions led to a man collapsing a temple on himself and several dozen others.”

“My actions?”

“If you hadn’t tempted that young girl, she would have never tormented him to this point.”

“The man terrorized three hundred foxes and used them to burn down entire towns. He burned hundreds of homes, injuring and killing mothers and children. That man was a torment by his very existence. Almighty gave him too much power, I just asked Delilah to even out the score.”

“Even the score… ”

“If that man insists on terrorizing the Philistine children than I insist that he have the strength of a child.”

“So, you admit to causing this mess.”

“I did not drop that temple on top of him, I resent your implications that I did so.”

“and I resent you taking the hair as a souvenir.”

“Oh, cheeky. I cherish this chance to see you this way.”

“Do you not take any of this seriously?”

“…Do you not get tired of this, Aziraphale?”

“This?”

“Our little philosophy rows. Going around and round and never achieving much.”

“It’s what we are meant to do. Good. Evil. Angel. Demon.”

“I don’t know lately I just been thinking I want…”

“Want what?”

“More.”

“Well isn’t that the point. You demons are always looking for more. More power, more fame, more sex, more… eviler.”

“No. I mean more… less…”

“More or less?”

“Just more than what everyone expects of me. Less...”

“…Oh.”

“Don’t worry Aziraphale you don’t have to pretend to humor me.”

“Oh… okay… okay.”

__________________________________

“Forgive them father for they do not know what they do.” It was a powerful claim coming from a man in deep pain. It was the kind of powerful statement that came from either excessive meditation, education, a very severe case of crucifixion syndrome, or an equally excruciating ride during rush-hour in a particularly smell metro car. Aziraphale would almost be proud of the knowledge the son of God was revealing if the situation was not so morose.

Always trust that some plucky young 20-something could speak with all the knowledge of a man who hadn’t lived long enough to learn he knew nothing. Preaching about the great virtues of forgiveness until the very end. It was just powerful enough to knock the centuries-old angel off his even keel. The weight of several centuries of bitterness pressed down around his conscience listening to the Almighty’s son.

Angels may be and are predominately creatures of love but that fact does not exclude that truth that they experience all the annoyance and frustration that came with that love. To be frank, love was like a special spice that made such negative feeling even more potent to the soul.

The boy might only be human but Aziraphale was beginning to think that it might be worth something for angels to also pay attention to what he said. Holding a grudge after a while became gaudy anyways.

“Look at that.” That voice made Aziraphale gasp. Speak of the devil, it was Crawly… Crowley. The demon saddled up behind Aziraphale, why was she always walking up behind Aziraphale. Her curled hair was spilling out of one side of her black veil. “Even while on the cross he is still telling people to be kind to one another. Big enough balls to even call out God himself.”

“Why do you insist on being crass?” Aziraphale limply interjected even though the demon insisted on continuing to talk.

“I like this kid. Well… liked.” She said as a spear was thrust into the boy’s side.

“Crowley…” It felt like a bone-deep sigh, actually, it was deeper than that, coming from so primordial oozing place. All he got for his sigh was a sharp-toothed grin and twinkling serpent eyes. It was a disarmingly charming look on her sharp face. If not for their previous run-ins Aziraphale would have pegged Crowley as a succubus/incubus with how easily she made a smile look be a temptation. Though from what Aziraphale had seen so far Succubi and Incubi were not so interested in the endeavors of temptation. They preferred to make quicker works of their marks. Why tempt when you could take.

All rather brutish, but he supposed that was the purpose of hell. Which made Crowley all the more confusing. Crowley was so much more… softer in her machinations. All instances, that Aziraphale knew of, involving her never going past her merely talking to a human. Since the beginning in that garden, Crowley seemed to be much more talk than action. It bothered Aziraphale for weeks now, that this demon was both more perplexing yet the easiest to confront.

He shuddered to remember the time he had approached Lagur, hoping to dissuade him from involving himself with Judas. All it got Aziraphale was a scared heart, almost discorporated and a budding fear of iguanas. It was the first time he truly wished he had not given away his sword. His right wing still wasn’t fully healed from the encounter, ruining dozens of his finest white linens.

“Did you hear… Headquarters are talking about changing how things are done up here.” She whispered conspiratorially to the angel. Aziraphale had heard, murmured on the winds. “Everyone is talking about subtlety and craftsmanship now. Leave it to the bosses to grow to attach to bronze age terminology as it becomes obsolete.”

“I have heard talk upstairs,” Aziraphale confirmed, keeping his eyes firmly ahead. “They are saying that want to pull back how many angels are here on earth.”

“Lord save me. I hate down there. I’d rather be up here until the end of it all.”

“Yes, I too am… interested in remaining on earth as well.”

“Well you’re a shoo-in aren’t you. Great angel of the eastern gate what with your sword and your permission slip to kill.” “Oh wait, yeah you lost both those didn’t you.” “Good riddance I say, probably the best choice you could have made.”

“That’s what worries me.”

“What does.”

“That you think it’s a good idea.”

Crowley let out a disgustingly loud laugh at that, attracting the eerie of all around them. Something with only made her giggle more softly, clearly tickled by her own ‘humor’. In such a dark dry way it actually raised a small begrudging smile to the angel’s lips. Pair stood together long after the son of God died, his body was taken down and long past when the last of the crowds left because hunger was more important than grieving.

The three days that followed happened in a blink. Aziraphale watched over as people come and go through the graves freely.

“What is this?” Came the high-pitched indignant shout. Behind him stood a veiled woman, face completely covered except for a set of gold sliced eyes. Crowley. “He is alive again? Is this because of those new policy change at your branch?” She had a large ceramic jar of oil and spices in her arms which she set down in a huff. Her dark clothing fluttered about as she plopped down on the rock beside Aziraphale.

“No, he…uh… just…”

“He what?”

“He was uncomfortable. Rocks aren’t the best things to be resting in for all eternity.”

“…Oh.”

_________________________________

“That is the last time I let you ‘tempt’ me to anything.”

“Well, I guess you would be much better at it than I.”

“Oysters are disgusting, Like soggy bread.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy it. Maybe the batch is left over from yesterday, they do their fishing every Monday.”

“Not your fault. The wine is fantastic though.”

“It is. Wonderful… You said you popped in for a temptation. What was it?”

“Oysters.”

“Crawly.”

“Crooooowley.”

“Crowley… seriously. Drop that smirk.”

“What? I thought it was funny. Eh… just here for you know… The higher ups wanted to check on the emperor.”

“Caligula? I saw a mass of people outside his palace just today hoping for his speedy recovery. He is very well loved.”

“Not for long if my boss has his way.”

“What are you doing to him?”

“Just your standards. He is sick so an overheated brain can be suspectable to… suggestion.”

“Suggestion?”

“Yeah, just a little nudge here or there. You’d be surprised but it never really takes much.”

“You know I actually can say that it doesn’t surprise me.”

“R…Really?”

“I’ve seen a lot since Eden.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“I’m not. Not really. It is different than I expected but I am growing used to it all.”

“Human’s, they are an interesting bunch.”

“They aren’t the only one.”

“Mmm… What?”

“I said ‘are you only doing this for the fun.’ What do you get for messing with a pagan emperor?”

“What’s with all the interest? Trying to thwart my plans.”

“That is my job.”

“Yes. You see a plan. You thwart away.”

“That is not a proper use of that word.”

“The proper use isn’t always the funest.”

“I am beginning to regret asking you to join me.”

“The word I think you looking for is tempting.”

“Keep that up and all you’ll ever get out of me is oysters for the rest of your life.”

“I’m beginning to question who is the angel and demon here.”

“You and your incessant questions.”

“I save them all for you.”

“Right well, this was lovely but, on that note, I have my own angelic virtues to go instill.”

“Oh, turning away a few of the good old boys and girls from the bathhouses?”

“No… actually. Hygiene is a very good thing and frankly, people should be going to the bathhouses more.”

“…That’s not why they go.”

“Still achieves the same goal either way. No, I am in town to look after a new boy, named Nero. Higher ups say he is going to be the emperor and a fairly nasty one at that. I am here to correct that and loosen the… the more aggressive upbringing that his mother is prone to.”

“That… that is interesting. Why do our head offices insist on making us work on virtually the same jobs?’

“I doubt they even know that it is happening. I believe Gabriel is under the opinion that we have never met?”

“Still don’t you think-“

“Well this has been a joy, but I probably should get going.”

“Right, thank you for the oysters. If we meet again, maybe I can tempt you to something sweeter.”

“You can’t tempt me.”

“Oh, come now. I am sure I could. Easily.”

“I am an angel. It’s my nature not to be”

“And you said it yourself I am a tempter. It’s my nature too. I will tempt you yet. Till than Aziraphale.”

“Till then, Crowley.”

_________________________________

_The first bit of angel art he found was ironically in one of the more notorious bathhouses of Pompeii. Therefore all to enjoy as they walked through the lobby was a finally mosaiced floor, handcrafted with tiles no bigger than a fingernail. It was a rather ‘inspired’ piece, which is to say that it left Aziraphale rather warm around the color and feeling as if he himself would need to repent for the great sin of having eyes._

_An angel bares of all things but his sense of pride and rather endowed set of wings was splashed out as if it was laying on the floor ecstatic at the chance to be stepped all over. Wrapped around him like a lover, or noose frankly both were very intimate partners in many lives, was a large serpent. It was red and vibrant, with bejeweled yellow eyes. In an interesting artistic choice, the angel shared the same features with rust hair and yellow jewel eyes._

_It was striking enough for Aziraphale to stop until the sudden amorous sounds coming from the locker room required his attention next. Leaving the floor to be forgotten for generations to come, until it was unearthed by posh Victorian archeologists who equally felt the need to repent for owning eyes._

_________________________________

People scampered about, coughing themselves to dizziness, faces smeared with all manner of soot and tear tracks. The chaotic sounds of clashing metal weaponry bounced off the stone surfaces of surrounding buildings. It was all a bit fantastical, on par with the great Colosseum shows of the sinking of Atlantis and the battles for Troy. Though decidedly fewer people were dying this time around. Only more dangerous than fire was controlled fires set by men wanting to make examples. Not natural destruction was as wild and free as it loved to be, much happier eating up property than people. Science will later say that this is because the human body is made up of 90% water which reacts rather poorly with fire. This is not the reason though that fire dislikes eating them up. No, fire in fact since the dawn of man has always been a vegetarian.

It has also been on a bit of diet as of late, winter always puts the fire off its food, but the season had passed and she was here to feast. The City of Alexandria was a delicacy indeed, she started by enjoying a little appetizer of spice markets, followed by a hardy round of crops, now she was topping it off with the finest of desserts, books. The Library of Alexandria was a plethora of scrolls and books, and growing in the collection every day, like a suckling pig she was watching as it fattened. She was positively salivating, which in the case would be an off-putting vapor all around her, at the opportunity to wrap herself around that library.

She controlled herself enough though to go slow, guaranteeing as many of those disgusting humans and animals could flee. Though she still had a few, she tried not to let it ruin her overall good mood.

Aziraphale, unfortunately, was one of those people in the process of not fleeing. No, the angel was camped out inside the library, hurriedly trying to the great mountain of books which he could save. He had started with the old and odd books of the bible than continued onto the more family-friendly mythology anthologies than topped off the pile with some of his more favorite recipes.

“Oh bother, why today of all days. It was a perfectly fine Tuesday morning for once.” He shouted to the heavens while corralling his babies.

“Aziraphale? Are you in here?” a fashionably scared voice came from around the aisles of books.

Following the voice around the corner, he saw probably the only person in the city whose robes weren’t turned black from the soot but by fashion choice. Crowley’s shock of red hair stood out, shore stylishly short and tightly curled to the base of his skull. Soot had coated the demon’s glasses, surely making it hard to see through. “Yes! Crowley! Over here!” He waved his arm as if the demon hadn’t already spotted him. The demon quickly came to him, a phalanx of scared citizens behind him. “Why are there even children here!? What child comes to a library?”

“I don’t know maybe they were hiding from the armies,” His voice was too flippant to be an honest opinion. The kids were looking at him as well, not like they are seeing him for the first time, but like they were waiting for what he told them what to do next.

“The library is no place for kids!” His counterpart just gave him this unimpressed closed mouth look that said ‘you and I both know you are better than this’. For not the first time though, Aziraphale questioned if that was true.

“While I am very interested in your personal policies of worthy book users, can you help me with these brats?” Aziraphale said nothing, eyeing between the small gang of masked children and the fires coming dangerously close to his babies. The heat was rising all around them. With all the dried parchments around them, they had better odds of surviving surrounded by matches, at least one or two of them be duds to light. “Help me get them out and I will help you with that.” Crowley boxed into Aziraphale’s space; so close that the angel could actually start to make out the inhuman coloration of Crowley’s eyes. With a snap of Crowley’s fingers, the fire surrounding that small stack of books was extinguished instantly. A perfect ring of in the fire formed around the table of books, waiting to be picked up later.

“Wait, can you-“ He started to ask, looking around as the fire was pushed back by unseen screen, forcing it to devour other more readily available reads.

His question was swallowed up by a loud crash as the first bits of the library began to collapse. Crowley brushed past him, not waiting long enough to hear Aziraphale out.

“Aziraphale, we are running out of time.” The little army of the children followed after the demon like a line of baby ducks. Watching them leave, he held back long enough, checking around corners before joining the back of the line. Becoming a watchful eye over their shoulders. Quickly they weaved their way through the library, dodging falling ceilings and collapsing shelves. Doors were quickly being eaten by the fire, on the brink of collapse. Lucky for them, Crowley only needed to give a sharp snap and the fire was pushed away. Aziraphale followed his lead and with a snap, the cracking door frame was reinforced.

One by one the children flooded out of the library, rushing into the night to find shelter from the fire and armies. As the last child breached the threshold, Aziraphale turned on his heels, racing back into the library.

The fire was making quick work of her meal, having found a warm dry spot with barely a human around, she let go and spread out. In mere minutes full sections of books on math, philosophy, and science went up in flames. She saved Religion for last, it was her favorite and she wanted the aftertaste of it to last the longest.

For this reason, Aziraphale found that his stack of prophecies and bibles were largely unthreatened. Non the less he skirted every small kindling, for fire and hellfire looked devilishly similar. Crowley was on his tail, breezing through large fires like the heat didn’t cook his skin. Though, considering his home, it was probably a far colder fire than what he was using too. He just sauntered past, seemingly unbothered, and picked up the pile of books, shoving them into unseen pockets of his toga.

“Come on Aziraphale, we have our souvenirs, best not be discorporated over it.” He slinked past the angel, not even giving passing glances to the hundreds of other paperback victims he could salvage. Seeing all that knowledge go up in flame made a rock the size of Jupiter form in his gut. Non the less he rather not do paperwork, so made a quick retreat as well.

Outside, the children were gone, the soldiers were gone and the library was gone. Nothing more than a big red ball of flames and the memories of what it looked like. Aziraphale was ash covered, nearly as blacked out as his demon counterpart, and he couldn’t even be bothered to miracle it away. Crowley, however, seemed put out with the mess and with a single blow of air, the ash was swept away with a magical wind. It left the angle sparkling white and raging mad. “Aziraphale, what’s wrong? We got your books ou-“

“There is a whole glorious library burned to the ground.” He spat, kicking the dirt and general scowling at the ground. He knew he would vomit if forced to look at the burning pyre of books anymore. His eyes burned, though he couldn’t say if it was because of the emotions or the ash.

“Oh, Angel.” Crowley’s voice was far too soft to come from a Fallen. He tried to put a hand on the angels’ shoulders, only for the upset man to shrug it off and shrink away from him. “What would you have had me do?”

“You can do miracles…can't you.” It was an accusation; he didn’t even attempt to make it sound like a question.

“They aren’t miracles. Demonic intervention.”

“Those are bloody miracles, Crowley. You could have stopped the entire fire.” Aziraphale snarled, throwing out a hand to point to the smoldering ash of lost knowledge. He not only could miracle it away but he could get in the building without fear of discorperating. He could have gone through and made sure every tiny glowing ember was washed away. Instead, he just saunters about doing the bare minimum. Acting like he never wanted it to stop at all. “Was this fire one of your ideas?”

“Mine?” Crowley had the gall to look offended by the accusation. Then he hesitated in that way that told Aziraphale that he knew more than he wanted to share. “No… no… but most likely my head office planned it, yeah.” He started to pull out the small collection of books from his robes, holding them out for the angel to take. “Angel… I am… s-sor… sor… I regret that it happened this way.”

“You can’t even say it properly!” His voice bounced off the walls of the city, echoing in the stratosphere like a crack of lightning. In walled cities across the world, people would mumble about the rumble of the gods as the bellowed from the skies. Many thought the voice was angry, some contented it was sad, while a small minority (no more than about 50 in a tiny village in the Scottish Highlands) claimed it was a celebration about a sacrificed goat or some such, But all would agree that it was a rather effeminate voice.

“I am not supposed to know that blessed 5 letter word.” Crowley hissed back, still holding out the books. “I am a demon.”

“you say that like I never noticed.” Aziraphale snatched up what books were left, hugging them close to his chest. His chest burned with an ache stronger than the fire that he saw Infront of him. “You don’t even care.”

“I do. I would have done more if could.” The old serpent's voice wobbled, not in that sliding way that it normally does, but in a weary way. His edges were softening, it was down turning and saddening. The demon, in so much that a demon could, was upset. Not in an angry vengeful way, but in a somber self-flagellating way. Aziraphale couldn’t stand the emotion of sadness, it was a syrupy mess that made humans slow down. He had already seen enough tears spilled to replicate that damned flood again and he could be destroyed happily if he never had to see them again.

His love for all living things made it hard to watch as they broke down, feeling unloved and alone. Even on this demon, it was hard to see that sad tilt in his eyes, brows, and lips. It all but put out any real righteous anger the angel felt, though the bitterness still clung. “You could have mira-“

“No, I couldn’t.” Crowley interrupted Aziraphale’s weak insistence. That would be direct disobedience against my bosses.” Though his excuse was equally weak to Aziraphale’s ears.

“Heaven forbid that you get a strongly worded letter fr-“

“Are you joking?” Crowley lowly asked, eyes still sad. He shuffled side to side, kicking the dirt as well. “Heavily worded letters. My lot doesn’t send letters Angel. I could be unmade for something like that.” It hurt to hear. Aziraphale knew in the back of his minds that this was true. Heaven would unmake traitors for big enough crimes, it was no surprise that hell would do it all for much less. Crowley placed his hand once more on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I do wish I could have done more Angel.” He held the angles stare with his own yellow cursed snake eyes. “Even if I can’t say the S word, I am… that.”

Then there was nothing left to say. The pair stood there, together, watching as the fire finally disappeared and returned the night back to the hands of darkness.

_________________________________

“So, we meet again Aziraphale.”

“Crawly, Is that you under that helmet?”

“Crowley. It’s Crowley now.”

“Yes, sorry dear boy. What are you now, a knight?”

“Hardly, just passing through with small temptations here and there. I could ask the same of you.”

“Yes, I am doing a bit of chivalrous knighthood for a little bit. New hobby.”

“Hobby, seriously? What about your book collecting?”

“I still have them, nice and safe at home. Honestly, this who knight thing was something my bosses told me too at first but I am actually growing to quite like it.”

“Couldn’t find your flaming sword so you decided to borrow another one?’”

“Ha. Ha. Your humor does make me laugh. I am here to protect the pilgrims.”

“Right, pilgrims.”

“Indeed, there are a great many needing to make passage to see the great relics.”

“Oh please, Angel. You and I know this hasn’t been about pilgrims since the third crusades.”

“For some of the truly pious, it still is.”

“So why are you here in Constantinople? Look around Angel, nothing pious about what’s happening around here.”

“True… Is this your work?”

“No. I was going to peg it on your lot.”

“Raping and pillaging has nothing to do with ‘my lot’.”

“Well, if it isn’t your lot and not my lot than whose?”

“There you go again questioning the-“

“Ineffable?”

“… Almighty... wait. why do you have yourself a small army of children?”

“Oh, oh right well you know the schtick, armies of the damned… and some such.”

“Are we damned, Mr. Crowley?”

“Uh… well… uh… oh y… yes, we are Abdul b… but uh…. You’ll find it isn’t all that bad.”

“Don’t tell a child that!”

“Why not.”

“It is bad.”

“It is?”

“no, don’t worry Abd-“

“Yes!”

“Waaaahhhhhh.”

“Great, you’ve made him cry. Rashid, I need a minute, you’re in charge of the kids. Follow me, Angel”

“What are you playing at Crowley?”

“Do you remember my offer of the arrangement.”

“Crowley, again. No, I will not do this with you.”

“Come on, Angel. You look like you need a break. Lord knows I do. I can't see what's so wrong with us sharing the load. You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.”

“You just said this isn’t your doing.”

“And it isn’t but our head offices think it is, which makes it even more clear that our offices don’t care as long as the boxes get ticked.”

“No. We can get into a lot of trouble. I just finally got on Uriel’s good side again and would rather not deal with Gabriel’s lectures anymore.”

“You should really take me up on the offer… Cancel each other out.”

“We are done here, Crowley.”

“Angel-“

“The south-eastern gates are broken and unguarded. Take you ‘armies of the damned’ that way. Don’t bother to thank me, just do everyone a favor and don’t let the sun set on you here.”

_________________________________

_Now, most knights templars claimed to join the brotherhood for their love a god. This was a full falsehood and they would do the Catholic thing, which is to say the convenient thing and repent every Sunday for the lie they regularly recited. No, in fact, most joined for the handsome money and the average women. now many of the women, and the men if the knight was for far inclined, were quite beautiful but after six months of traveling on pilgrimage, you can’t blame them for not looking their finest._

_This made the knight Aziraphale a bit of an oddity, though that would the fourth most likely impression people would use to describe him. Just after painfully British, very intelligent and some such nonsense about gay monkeys. His comrades would talk about in hushed tones over campfires about his constant refusal of payment. He never took a coin and rarely took food, in fact when they tried to think about it his comrades never could place a time when they saw him eat._

_What he never turned down though, was when pilgrims offered him bits from their gospels. Beautifully illuminated bible verses paired with books of hours they lovingly protected with their lives, though would trade with some miraculous insistence._

_Currently, he was inspecting his latest acquisition from a rather prominent textile merchant. A leather-bound book of hours that was stunningly detailed with semi-precious metals. On the first page was the portrait of the patron, surrounded by angels. The pilgrim, his wife, and four kids were setting like royalty with their purple robes and gold detailing. Four angels cocooned them, almost all of them glittering with gold hair, halos, and wings._

_They all had the same face which at first Aziraphale though was a great artistic choice until he saw that all the artist was doing it. So, it was either part of the art movement or just everyone needed more practice. Gabriel was balancing staff and sphere in his arms, Michael had his sword, and Uriel with holy fire in his hands. They all had watchful eyes on the adults, uniform in pose and posture._

_One stood out though, gently holding the hand of the pilgrim’s youngest son, gently smiling at the rest of the little ones. The angel seemed somehow more important with its red hair and gold leaf eyes. He was beautiful and oddly detailed compared to the rest. Aziraphale had inquired why only for the pilgrim to confide that their children had provided all the firsthand accounts._

_________________________________

Humans were rather disgusting creatures. With all their technology and development, they seemed insisted on making hygiene the least of their concerns. It was only a matter of time until the horseman of Pestilence made his ride through the landscape. Though ride might not be the appropriate word for the slow meandering that he really did. It was a leisure pace, one that had his popping into every home for a chat and shop for a snack.

Everyone greeted him with open arms and by the time he left those arms had swollen black. Non the less their neighbors wouldn’t bat an eye to share their cups of wine with him, eat what’s left over from his plate and even pay him for his visit. That wasn’t odd though, as everyone showed good hospitality to any traveling doctor. Even one that seemed to leave more sick in his wake compared to when he arrived.

Aziraphale treaded through the muddy streets, avoiding the puddles of piss and filth that splotched the street. People around him offered greetings in a hushed way, to worried about breathing in the miasma in the air. More concerned with the invisible air demons than the filth covered animals around their feet. The angel would have to shift his large pile of wood just to see the dirty faces of the common man he walked amongst.

Tonight, was a big night, in which he would erect a wood pyre. Not to roast a witch or heretic of the sort, no he was making many mini pyres along the main street of the town, the smoke would “destroy the miasma” (which would in fact just irritate and repeal the flea-infested rats but the humans were not ready yet to learn about such details… at least that was what he was told). He had already aided dozens of towns across Europe by teaching them the practice, though it would be easier if they just did as the Arab’s did and bathed more than once a month. Either way pestilence had finally stepped foot on the British isle and Aziraphale was ready to combat him.

Few people strolled the streets now, compared to a decade ago which was swollen with the overflow of civilization. Only the bold and desperate still walked the streets regularly, making those who did always a point of interest for the others. In this case, a figure cloaked in black and reeking of sage was attracting most of the attention. Hat obscured any light that would hit the man’s eyes, none the less the young family he was attending too seemed less than scared by his presence. “Alright, there is a good lad, take that home and your mum and pa should be as fit as the devil.”

The trip before him, led by a boy with lopsided gate, took a parcel from the plague doctor, heading home as fast as possible. As they left, the doctor took notice of Aziraphale. The Plague doctor pulled down his big-beaked mask to reveal snake eyes. “Angel, how are you this century?” He had all the cheer of a cat that caught the canary, a feeling that left Aziraphale concerned for any winged creatures in the demon’s presence, even his own.

“Crowley, leave it to you to make a doctor look scary.” The black hat and cloak made the white of his mask pop like a ghostly visage. The hellish red ember tone of his hair looking, even more, a flame, tied loosely at the name of his neck to allow the long curls to flow like water.

“The best part is it all is that the scary mask has a function, Angel.” Was his cheeky reply, complete with an overly fond nickname that Aziraphale wasn’t totally settled with. He flipped up the mask to reveal the deep channel stuffed full of herbs? “Helps with the stench.”

“Are you actually helping these people?” Aziraphale looked at him skeptically, Seeing the demon in healers clothing was off-putting though not out of character he supposed. Even if they didn’t talk about it Aziraphale couldn’t be bothered to forget all the people in their long existences that the demon had ‘saved to progress the reign of the damned’ or whatever other nonsense the clever wordsmith came up with. Aziraphale had even gone back to check on some of them. None of those people had gone on to live particularly devious lives, though they weren’t very virtuous either, just normal humans.

“Let’s be real. There isn’t much I could do to make it worse.” Crowley said, pointing out the ghostly white form of Pestilence as he ducked into a new home. It was a fair enough assessment of the situation, the black death (though pestilence would take some umbrage with the miss coloring, he was quite proud of his bone white hair and suit that stood out like a beacon among the muck) was well past raging across the country. The fact it was not even close to an answer was left unsaid amongst them. “Though the commendation was a nice change. They even sent me a bottle of wine.”

“Let me guess, you didn’t do this.”

“Of course, I didn’t.”

“You never do. In fact, you never seem to do anything.” Crowley with no shame just gave a shrug and self-serving grin.

“I do the important things. Eat, drink and sleep.”

“You don’t need to sleep,” Aziraphale said rather surprised, why waste time sleeping when it could be spent reading or meeting more humans?

“You don’t need to eat, do you Angel?” He wielded the nickname like a brand, to remind Aziraphale of the role he was supposed to fulfill perfectly. No one up there knew of his love for the humans cooking. It was a closely held secret that unfortunately in a lesser moment he had shared with the demon. Something he had a growing suspicion he would regret sharing.

“So, is that where you have been?” He tried course correcting the conversation.

“Yeah, mostly. This century sucks, I try to sleep about every other year just to make it all go by faster.” Aziraphale was cross to have to admit he agreed. So far, the highlights of this century had been The papacy’s move to Avon which was a political disaster, the beginning of the Hundred-Years-War which was a military disaster and now Pestilence was bringing the black death. Which now that Aziraphale thought of it, all in all made the century pretty fantastic for the horsemen. Not exactly the peak of his time on earth though, he just hoped that the next century would bring something better. At the very least a bit more culture. “Now come on Aziraphale. You can’t possibly stand there and tell me that my deal seems worse than mucking through this shit and dealing with this endless foul mess.”

“true…” Aziraphale worried his lip “It is a bit foul isn’t it.” He watched as a child slipped in some puddle of waste, only to giggle manically and start making muck angels. Humans can be disgusting.

“Come now Angel,” Again with that nickname. Was he just trying to gloat his triumphant temptation over a member of the heavens? “You could be at home now reading.” That did sound lovely.

“We could get in trouble.” His sensibilities were still smarting from the last strongly worded letter that Gabriel sent. A novel-length diatribe of critiques and thinly veiled insults. Though they weren’t veiled enough to keep Aziraphale from tumbling into a month-long slump where books were his companion. Another deep secret, but this one he kept to himself. Crowley looked rather put out with his ability to keep turning down his suggestions.

“Come on just this once. A little test, right now.” He slunk up close to Aziraphale, bumping shoulders with him. The sun bounced off the jewelry around the demon’s neck, making him hard to look away from. “Let’s just leave, we can pop off to somewhere with fresh air and see if our offices even notice.” He whispered conspiratorially, this close Aziraphale could make out his sharp venomous incisors. His cunning eyes pinned Aziraphale to his spot.

“I don’t know…” His heart was racing, the blood rushing in his ears, making the hairs on his arms stand up. Crowley’s smile grew like he could smell the hesitation in him. He threw an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulder, pulling him in tight to the hell fire heat radiating off his corporeal form.

“Would you like to come to my place?” He dropped his voice even lower. “I have that lovely bottle of wine I have been meaning to open.” It all sounded rather nice. He hadn’t had a good glass of wine with another person since the late 1290s. He had been invited by a group of young men to a night of heady political and literary discussions doused in alcohol, lead by a young upstart name Dante prattled on an epic he was writing about the heavens. A few bottles in and Aziraphale couldn’t help but throw in his knowledge to try and spice up what would have surely been sappy and utterly false portrayals of heaven and hell.

“That does sound nice… but what about my pyres?” With a snap of his fingers, Crowley had erected and set ablaze two dozen massive pyres, the fires all controlled with accuracy the only hell could wish to possess. The duo stood there for a few minutes, watching the weary families pick out their doors to see the commotion, Aziraphale still tucked under Crowley’s arm. It was all rather comfortable, if not a bit too hot for the summer day.

“All taken care of. Come on Aziraphale. So much better to drink with others.”

_________________________________

“I wish hell looked even one iota like this. Would be so much warmer, much more pleasurable.”

“Stop swinging it around, that’s an original copy.”

“Well tell me Aziraphale, is this what the heavens look like these days? Mmm, no probably not I would assume. Too many humans are in this version.”

“You are just looking for a fight.”

“I am a demon.”

“What happened to being more than just black and white?”

“It is far too hard to keep the linens white in this century, Angel. You should know that better than most.”

“When did you start dealing in metaphors?”

“Right around the time that an apple represented the knowledge of the self. I do find it fascinating how spot on this man is about Pope Nicholas III, he is one of our crown jewels down there.”

“Why are you here Crowley?”

“Can I not be here to see you, Angel?”

“Oh, good Lord.”

“I have a proposition for you.”

“No. No. Not this again.”

“Yes, this again. Now my headquarters want me to head to France, help Famine kick start some revolt or some such nonsense.”

“Well, you better get going than. Awfully long ride.”

“Awfully terrible transportation. I detest horses.”

“Yes. Well, get to your point, Dear boy.”

“My point… Is that I am sure you have some similar if not conflicting instructions as well.”

“Well, maybe.”

“See that is my point! Why both go. It would save us both a lot of hassle, and some awfully sore bottoms, to just say we did the work.”

“I’ve told you no before. Why do you insist on bringing up again?”

“It worked during the plague.”

“… It did. I don’t want to go to France any more than you do.”

“How about we flip a coin than?”

“Fine, just once more than we are done with this nonsense.”

“Heads you go. Tails I go.”

“Fine.”

“…Damn it!”

“Bring me back a crepe will you, dear boy.”

_________________________________

A pyre burned in the center of the town square in Rouen. On the outskirts of the crowd stood an angel, hands wrapped in prayer, his wishes washed out by the jeering crowds.

“Your bosses’ pension for martyrs is becoming tacky, Angel.” Said his companion, the dancing fires around the young French girl’s body is reflected in his mirrored sunglasses.

“It… is as God wills it.”

“They are only getting younger.”

_________________________________

_Matteo was a lovely man; he had a glint to his eyes the belayed a devious nature that was only fully realized once thoroughly watered with wine. It was a comforting familiar feature that Aziraphale couldn’t quite place his familiarity with. He was deliciously Florentine with his deep love of beauty, passionate flying emotions and absolute devotion for the church (and more importantly mother). They had shared some lovely evenings together over top candles, sketches, and piles of great literature._

_Now the young artist was insistent in showing Aziraphale his new work place. A bursting studio with the chaotic sounds of that messy process called art. Dozens of pieces were currently being worked on all under the watchful eyes of_ _Andrea del Verrocchio. Matteo breezed past all of them, pointing out the little details he had contributed but he was interested in the large piece at the back of the shop._

_The nearly finished painting was titled Tobias and the Angel. Matteo was exuberantly proud of his detail work on the robes, once he mastered it Mr. Verrocchio had promised to promote his hands and feet. He prattled away on all the hours spent of the archangel Raphael’s robes, so engrossed in technical terms to not notice Aziraphale’s confused eyes._

_He knew the story of Tobias and Raphael. He knew all the stories about Raphael as he knew all the stories involving any angel. The only problem was, Aziraphale hadn’t heard about Raphael for almost 6 millennia. For all tense and purposes, he had disappeared or worse fallen, when the heavenly rift happened. Long before man even was molded by God’s hands. It was a tight lip subject; most angels chose to never talk about those events, let alone their siblings that were now gone forever._

_A fiery-haired angel, draped in beautifully detailed brocade robes of cream, pink and blue, walked on tip toes looking painfully graceful. The angel’s wings were black with highlighted streaks of red stylistically unusable and there purely to delineate the holy from the man. He was walking hand in hand with a young youthful man wearing equally brilliant red and blue modern clothing. They are barely, tenderly, touching each other along the palms as they walked, a dog scampering after them and fish held in the human’s fist._

_He was struck by the realization that all angels’ depictions changed, depended on artist own views of purity and untapped attractions, except for Raphael. Almost universally all the images of the angel had those gold eyes and flowing red hair. Always striking and gorgeous. Always reminding him of that pesky willy demon serpent that constantly walked up behind him in his life._

_The comparison frankly did not escape him but also made his headache, in so much that a celestial being could ache which is to say that it felt like dozens of stars collapsing into black holes in a single millisecond. It left him feeling warm and bubbly and nervously reliving all his moments with the demon._

_Did people think Crowley was an angel? What this some demonic temptation to confuse the humans? Was he personally coming and posing for these pictures? Why were people saying he was an angel? Did he really have abs like the ones in his older depictions? What would he even be the angel of? Does he know? Would he be upset you find out? Should Aziraphale tell him? How did it make Aziraphale feel? Did he want to tell Crowley? What was he doing when Aziraphale wasn’t around? Question everything and coming up with no answers. It was all rather… ineffable and bloody annoying._

_A matter better left to be dealt with in the next century._


End file.
